Bed Invasion
by Megan Hale
Summary: In which Sherlock is bored and can't sleep in his own bed. Slash.


On July 23rd, Sherlock had another one of his fits of boredom, and decided to wake the entire neighbourhood up at about 3 in the morning, wedging a few more bullets into the wall. John had come downstairs in a hurry, terrified that something was wrong and that Sherlock was in danger. Instead, when he entered the living room he found his flat mate and best friend laying curled up on the couch, cuddling his gun.

"Sherlock? What is it you're on about now? It's 3 o'clock in the morning!" he scolded.

"John. I'm BORED."

"Well, I'm deeply sorry to hear that, Sherlock, I really am. But some of us actually sleep in the middle of the night. Why don't you have a go at that, eh?"

"I CAN'T," was the whiny response.

"Oh, and just why's that?"

"Bed's full. Experiment."

John rolled his eyes. "That would be your fault. Sleep on the couch, then."

"No can do, John. Lumpy. You know I can't fight with a sore back. You never know when I'll need to take down an armed gunman or jump off of a building or something." He still hadn't turned to make eye contact with him.

John huffed. "Feel free to offer up a solution then, because I can't have you keeping me up all night with this nonsense."

At that, Sherlock rolled over and looked at John. He paused for a second, staring at him intently. Then, suddenly, he jumped up off the couch, put the gun down in a drawer and started for the stairs.

"Very well, then," he said. "I'll be sleeping in your bed."

John blinked, before he started following him. "What? You are most certainly not!"

Sherlock didn't say anything.

"Where the bloody hell am I supposed to sleep?"

By this point, Sherlock had reached John's bedroom door. As he reached for the handle, he replied, "Oh, come on now, John. Be a grown up. Your bed's big enough for two."

John stopped in the doorway, as Sherlock continued on, tugging down the blankets on the side that John hadn't been sleeping on previously. He stared at him, watching intently as Sherlock shed his dressing gown, leaving him in a tight-fitting, long-sleeved, black shirt and pyjama pants. His eyes narrowed, but finally, he just sighed.

"Oh, fine then."

He stomped across the room, making a show of his disapproval of the circumstances, and plopped down onto his bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. He made sure to face the opposite direction of his new companion.

"Goodnight, John," Sherlock said in a mockingly sarcastic tone.

John sighed. "Goodnight, Sherlock."

Several minutes passed. John continued to stare at the wall ahead of him, without moving. He was hyperaware of the (surprisingly) warm body behind him, and was suddenly unable to even think about getting back to sleep. He kept note of Sherlock's breathing, waiting for it to become completely steady, as an indicator that he had fallen asleep, before he chanced turning around to look at him.

When he did, he was quite shocked to find Sherlock's eyes wide open and staring at him. He struggled for a minute trying to find something to say.

"Uhh… Still can't sleep?" he finally asked.

"No. Distracted."

"By what?"

"You."

"Oh, for god's sake, Sherlock. It was your idea to sleep in my bloody bed!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John. Why don't you ever _think_? It's absolutely maddening the way you don't pick up on things. Especially things as ridiculously simple as this."

"As simple as what?"

"You remember that night after we first met when we were at the restaurant stalking the cabbie and I told you I was married to my work?" Sherlock asked, and John swore he could see a slight flush working its way into Sherlock's pale cheeks.

"Yes…"

"Well, I might have changed my mind a bit about that one. I am, of course, still completely consumed by my work, but I've also had my attention dragged elsewhere by, of all things, _feelings_."

John blinked. "Are you saying you have a _crush_, Sherlock?"

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably.

"Are you saying that you have a crush _on me_?"

A long, awkward pause ensued, during which Sherlock proceeded to draw the covers up over his face. John suddenly grinned, and tugged the blankets down away from Sherlock's face.

"Brilliant!" he said, in the manner he normally did when Sherlock had made an especially impressive deduction.

He then grabbed Sherlock's face and kissed him. And then the most marvelous thing happened; Sherlock kissed him back.

As their lips moved together, John moved his hand to tangle his fingers in Sherlock's dark curls, and he swore he had been electrocuted by the world's most delightful lightening.

Sherlock's hand moved up to cup his neck, fingers pressing in to John's pulse point.

He pulled away, gasping. "Are you really checking my pulse right now?" he asked.

"Sorry," Sherlock mumbled, nuzzling himself into John's neck, "Experiment. Habit."

"Oh, shut up, Sherlock." John laughed and wrapped his arms around the other man, reveling in the comfort of being this close to him. His lips pressed into the top of Sherlock's head, breathing in the scent of him.

They both fell asleep like that, more relaxed than they had ever been before.


End file.
